


Lavender

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1950s, Bisexual Bob Newby, High School, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Jim Hopper knows how to keep his trap shut. (Flashback fic to when the adults were at Hawkins High.)





	Lavender

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Лавандовый // Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047743) by [Flight_of_fancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flight_of_fancy/pseuds/Flight_of_fancy)



> Look, someone sent me an ask about Hopper/Bob as a crackship, and it was basically the prime opportunity to write 14 y/o Hopper having ~Accepting Father~ feelings.

**September 5th, 1955**

 

“Ew, track?”

“Hey, I gotta join something,” says Jim, because hell, it’s ninth grade and it’s _Hawkins High School_ and he doesn’t want to screw himself royally - at least not straight away, anyway.

“Why not basketball?” says Benny. “It’s less sweaty.”

“It’s not,” says Calvin sagely. “It’s _really_ not.”

“I don’t wanna be by myself! You _guys_ \--”

“Shut up, Hammond, I don’t see you joining track to avoid your loneliness.”

“I wanna do track as much as I wanna join Bob the Brain’s stupid new radio club,” Benny grumbles.

“Hey,” smirks Jim, “you leave him alone. Bob the Brain brought that nonsense with him all the way through Middle School, he can’t drop it now. He’s just trying to impress Joyce Horowitz, in his own little weird way.”

As they pass by the announcements board, they spot Harry Blackburn and his ridiculous friends scribbling on the club posters - or, more accurately, just one. _‘AUDIOVISUAL CLUB CALLS AT HAWKINS HIGH!’_ is the title. Underneath, there’s a crudely drawn, very round caricature of the club president, and a speech bubble that reads: _“attention all losers! you must have zero friends to join!!”_

Benny snorts and turns the corner into his classroom. “You’d better up your game, Hopper, he’s gonna have you beat at this rate. Don’t lose Horowitz to Newby, man. Oh, and hey, I’m eating lunch in the gym for tryouts, so see you assholes later--”

“ _You’re_ the asshole,” says Jim, and he can feel his face burning.

“See you later,” says Calvin, and continues walking to the cafeteria with Jim. “You really think Bob Newby has a thing for Joyce? He always seemed a little bit... I don’t know. Lavender, maybe.”

Jim shoots him an incredulous look. “ _Lavender?_ Jesus, Cal, grow up. Just because he likes weird books and fiddling with radio crap doesn’t mean he _doesn’t_ have wood for Joyce Horowitz.”

“That’s disgusting,” Calvin snorts. “I don’t wanna think about that.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you are, so who’s ‘lavender’ now?”

“ _Jim_ ,” he wheezes, and Jim smirks, because he’s got him good there.

“Yeah?”

“You’re the worst-- oh, shit, hang on, you really are. You made me forget I have a football meet if I wanna join the team, shit--”

“Hey, I didn’t make you do nothing!” Jim protests, as Calvin scrambles to find a football flyer from the bottom of his satchel, and then starts to trip towards the health classroom. “Good luck, Cal! You’re gonna need it!”

“Shut up!” Calvin yells back, before disappearing. Jim chuckles. He’s not too unsettled by the prospect of lunch alone - maybe Chrissy Carpenter would let him set with her friends. They shared pre-Algebra together last year, so he’s in with a chance.

As he turns the corner to head towards the cafeteria, he spots the open door of the brand new A.V. room, and Bob Newby pinning a poster to it for the club. The kid’s done his fundraising, he’s got his equipment, and he’s ready to establish a proper A.V. club for the high school, too.

He’d be decent on the wrestling team, Jim thinks, but Bob’s probably investing all of his time into his tech. Well, that, and the fact that he _hates_ fighting. Even on the worst days, when someone’s got him pinned against the lockers or curled up on the asphalt by the bleachers, the guy only ever tries to de-escalate the situation. Never raises a damn hand to anyone.

“Hey, Jim!” he says amicably, as Jim approaches the A.V. room, “you thinking of joining?”

“Ah, no,” says Jim, “but if you got flyers goin’, I wanna take one for Alex Clarke... Her little brother gets real jazzed about this stuff.”

“Sure thing, champ. They’re just inside somewhere, let me grab you one.”

“Where’d all this stuff come from?” Jim inquires, peering into the room - there’s a clunky television set, an organised stack of neatly tied cables, and the slide projector that they always have to wheel out for science class.

“Oh, here and there. Some of it’s been here for an age, but now it’s just, uh, all in the same place. A... very small place.” He leans back against the door to give Jim a better view of the technology. “Shame you’re not interested, you’ve got a real eye for detail...”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Bob ducks into the club room and Jim follows, letting the door swing shut behind him. There’s an enormous hunk of metal sitting on a table, square in the centre of the room. And seeing as this used to be a maintenance closet, it takes up a hell of a lot of room.

“Sure you do,” says Bob, rummaging through stacks upon stacks of manuals and manila files to retrieve his club advertisements. “Eye for detail, and a nose for trouble. You’d make a good detective, maybe.”

“You think so?”

Bob plucks out a sheet with the club information printed on it, with a flourish and a little _aha!_ to match. “Yeah, buddy, I _know_ so. If you ever wanna learn morse code or radio speak, just give me a holler.”

It’s a curse, in all honesty. Jim Hopper’s eye for detail rears its ugly head at that very moment, as he accepts the flyer from Bob Newby’s hand. He pauses first on his fingernails, unmarred by the stress and grime of sports, but bitten down so much there aren’t any white crescents on the ends to speak of. As Jim’s gazes travel upwards, he doesn’t miss the way that Bob’s eyes flicker down to his lips, and then back up to either eyelashes, in a triangle of attraction. It’s the same thing he does when he strikes up awkward conversation with Joyce Horowitz.

 _Lavender_ , Jim thinks.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, and hopes that open-book Bob the Brain can keep this particular secret to himself, for his own sake.

He makes to leave, but stops at the last second--

“Actually, can I take a couple of flyers?”

“Yeah, sure thing!”

\--because he knows how disappointed Bob would get if he saw the vandalism in the hallway.

Maybe detective work is the right career choice for him - Jim certainly knows how to keep his trap shut. He’s never met anyone who likes girls _and_ guys before, but he figures that just means he’s got no weird comparison points to draw from. And honestly, Bob Newby draws enough flak without this on top, so Jim thinks he’ll just keep that interesting tidbit of information to himself.

Before going into the cafeteria to eat, he backtracks down the vacated corridor to the announcements board, and swaps the graffitied flyer for a fresh one.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow my [fic blog](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com) or my [main blog](http://futureboy.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
